


All sorts

by FreakingWildfire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Epilogue, Implied Johnlock, Johnlock - Freeform, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4906291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreakingWildfire/pseuds/FreakingWildfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sort of after-the-credits scene that should be read as the last one from the show, since it's been conceived as a possible ending to it. It's a headcanon of mine and I finally wrote it. Johnlock implied, not really present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All sorts

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little side story that came to my mind a few nights ago when I asked myself: 'How would I like Sherlock to end'? And I mean 'end', as in, a last scene after the credits after season 5 or whatever season is the last one. This is what I wrote based on that thought. Although there is some implied Johnlock, there are actually only three characters, two of which are OCs, and the last one has been mentioned but never actually seen on the show. I know it's not your usual Johnlock fanfic, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
> 
> EDIT: I want to thank viciouslily for brit-picking and proofreading the text for me. Most of her suggestions were fantastic and I can't say how grateful I am for them. I might consider acting the backstory bit she advised me to if I find time in the near future. Thanks again!

“Sophie, where did you put it!? I can’t find it anywhere!”

 

“I don’t know! I was sure I left it in your bag!”

 

“Well, bloody thing won’t stop ringing and it’s obviously not in there!”

 

Sophie spun around, eyes anxiously sweeping the untidy room once again, completely at a loss. Suddenly, she came to a halt. “Oh!” She gasped, abruptly remembering. “Stupid! It’s in your sponge bag!” She fumbled with the covers that swirled over the still unmade bed and produced a small, black nylon bag which vibrated and screeched as if possessed.  She handed it to the other girl, who all but pounced on it and took out the phone.

 

“The hell was it doing in there?” She huffed and picked up without even looking at the caller information displayed on-screen. Sophie opened her mouth to apologise for her slip, but Charlotte made a dismissive gesture with her hand, then took a single breath and her face became all business. “Good afternoon, Charlotte Rice speaking. Who’s calling, please?”

 

Sophie waited patiently, folding her scattered clothes while trying to work out the identity of the caller by Charlotte’s expression; after a few seconds her plump lips cracked into a pleased smile and Sophie knew what it was about.

 

“Of course I remember! So it is available to view? Yes –Yes, absolutely. We’ll be there. Four o’clock, right? Thank you very much!”

 

Charlotte hung up and glanced at her, hazel eyes twinkling under the dim light coming through the holes in the curtains.

 

“So?” Sophie asked, as Charlotte seemed determined to withhold any and all information until asked.

 

“The flat. The one we were too late to view last time, with the old landlady,” Charlotte gushed as she started to pack her things, completely carried away. Tiny strands of short, dark brown hair fell over her forehead, but she ignored them and kept tugging at her clothes and towels, throwing them into a navy holdall without so much as smoothing them out.

 

“What of it?” Sophie asked, still clueless but unwilling to admit it.

 

“Apparently the other couple pulled out at the last minute. One of them got offered a job in Manchester. She said to drop by at—”

 

“Four o’clock, yeah, got that bit. Wait, which one was it again?”

 

“Great location? Central London?” Charlotte snorted, rolling her eyes. It had been a really long week and she couldn’t bear dilly-dallying on unnecessary explanations for yet another minute. “Get your stuff. I’m not spending another night in this sad excuse for a hostel.”

 

“Gower Street?” Sophie ventured, reaching for her own bag. She started to stuff it with her carefully folded jumpers in a not so careful manner. “By the way, what time is it? Can we stop to grab a bite somewhere?”

 

Charlotte paused and scowled at her disapprovingly. “Christ, Sophie, how did you ever manage to keep track of things in uni?”

 

“Why?” Sophie pouted, visibly hurt. She knew she wasn’t precisely organised, but it’s not like she wasn’t trying.

 

“We already discarded the one in Gower Street. Plus, there wasn't even a landlady. It was a landlord. That moustache was hard to miss.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Sophie said, remembering. “He was a real twunt, wasn’t he?” she meditated for a bit longer and then exclaimed,  “Right! Landlady! Mrs. Hunter, was it?”

 

“You know, I realize this is petty of me to say, but you really don’t appreciate having me around enough. The only thing you’ve mastered so far are those french plaits of yours. Which are lovely, mind you”, and before Sophie could protest, she added, “Turner. Mrs. Turner. 223b Baker Street. And yes, we have time to eat something if we hurry.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

About to knock once more, Charlotte's fist was suspended mid-air when the door opened. An old lady in a frilly apron greeted them and introduced herself as Mrs. Turner.

 

“Oh, my! It’s freezing out here, isn’t it? I guess it’s that time of the year again… You must be Charlotte, correct? Please, do come in!”

 

The girls nodded at each other and stepped inside. They shed their jackets at the coat stand by the entrance, and before a single word could be uttered, Mrs. Turner went on, “I’ve just put the kettle to boil. Tea will be ready in a jiffy but, if you’d like, I can show you the flat first?”

 

“Of course. Lead the way”, Charlotte agreed, and a slightly daunted Sophie followed the two women through a set of creaking stairs leading to the first floor.

 

Mrs. Turner struggled with a cluster of keys, trying each one of them in the lock while blabbering,  “I’m sorry for such short notice, you see... This couple had all but signed the contract and they called me this very morning to cancel… Leave it to chance to ruin all your plans, I always say.”

 

“I’m sorry you were inconvenienced, but we’re glad to have this opportunity”, Charlotte said matter-of-factly.

 

“It’s one way to put it,” she conceded. The third key was a charm and the door opened with a click, revealing a somewhat worn, vintage living room. Too vintage to be intentional, Charlotte noted. It was fairly obvious that someone had put a lot of effort into trying to disguise the actual age of the residence, though. The dark wooden floors’ lack of shine was mostly covered by a flat weave carpet in different shades of beige and hazel; in the middle of the room, a roll arm sofa had been reupholstered to match the carpet and was now featuring a tawny chelsey velvet finishing. A mahogany coffee table sat opposed to it, with a coastal turquoise vase on top. On the left end, a disused fireplace was sporting a brand-new, white molded mantel that framed the wood stove allocated inside the hearth. At least it would be less messy than using the actual fireplace. The whole room had probably been stripped of whatever horrible wallpaper that was state-of-the-art back in the seventies and re-painted in a mauve tone, save for the rusty-golden damask wallpaper plastered over one of them. Overall, the house had been nicely refurbished, but there’s only so much one can do to hide wrinkles after reaching a certain age.

So the flat was old. Her eyes searched for Sophie's and her expression said the same thing she was thinking: So what? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t entertained the possibility. They could very well give it a chance, since it didn’t appear exactly ancient nor neglected.

 

Mrs. Turner invited them in with a swift motion of her arm. “It needs a little maintenance”, she admitted after they looked about the living room, “but I can take care of it. It will be spotless by the time you move in, that is, if you decide to take it.”

 

“I love the lilac walls”, Sophie blurted out, uncomfortable after spending so long silent, and pointed in a specific direction, “and the contrast with the wallpaper”.

 

“Oh, that kitschy golden thing”, Mrs. Turner said derisively, “Crazy about it, they were. I mean, the previous tenants. Put it up themselves. You wouldn’t believe how sad they were to leave it behind —how were they supposed to take it overseas anyway?” She shook her head, apparently still in disbelief that someone could like the wretched thing so much. “You can keep it if you like, I just can’t bear to look at it, I find it way too old-fashioned. Out with the old, in with the new, is what I always say. What’s the point in having new things if people don’t make use of them?” she lamented.

 

Charlotte intervened in the exact moment that Sophie’s peach cheeks started turning beetroot red.

 

“I, um, I think it’s okay, I don’t really mind it. What about the rest of the place?”

 

“But of course, dear!”, Mrs. Turner bolted, “The kitchen is over here.”

 

Charlotte squeezed Sophie’s right arm reassuringly (she hoped), and noticed the tension disappearing from her shoulders. She was rewarded with the tiniest smile —the petite girl’s green eyes shone a touch brighter, two beacons in a sea of freckles.

 

“I really like it, though” she whispered in a shy voice.

 

“Me too”, Charlotte confessed, then urged her to follow the blathering landlady.

 

The rest of the house was styled conforming to the first room, which did not bother them as much as they suspected it should. Instead, they found it oddly charming, a sort of haven to keep them safe from all the modern-world madness that was London. They loved it there, but God, could the city be suffocating sometimes.

 

“And what about the neighbours? Anything worth mentioning?” Charlotte asked. She wasn’t one for beating around the bush, not when it came to the important things. And the landlady jolting at the question convinced her that asking was a good idea.

 

“Oh, neighbours… Lovely. All of them, save for a few exceptions. Next door aren’t exactly your usual sort of couple. Completely harmless though”, Mrs. Turner managed, averting her gaze.

 

Was that supposed to sound reassuring? Under normal circumstances, ‘harmless’ wasn’t the first word to come to mind when describing someone —unless they weren’t.

 

“Oh, are they?” she asked bluntly, eyebrows raised.

 

Mrs. Turner sighed in defeat. “Well, one certainly doesn’t get bored with them. But,” she composed herself and guided them down the corridor, “their housek— I mean, landlady keeps them at bay most of the time. Wonderful woman, if you ask me.”

 

Sophie swallowed hard, alarmed at the purposefully vague answer. _Relax,_ Charlotte lipped. _She’s probably just a busybody_. The poor lady must be awfully bored to peep into her neighbour's affairs like that.

 

“...And this is the bedroom —Don’t you worry, if you finally stay here, I’ll switch the double bed for two singles”, Mrs. Turner promised, visibly relieved to escape the previous conversation.

Both girls opened their mouths in sync, then shot a quick glance at the other and closed them again. One could never be careful enough, especially when it came to older people.

 

Misinterpreting their silence as disapproval, Mrs. Turner added, “It doesn’t look like it now, but the room is big enough to share, I assure you.”

 

“Oh, it’s not… We shared a room while we were in uni, Charlotte said, and when Sophie gaped at her, she corrected herself, “I mean, we went to different colleges, but shared with other people, so we're used to it.”

 

A gurgle could be heard through the abrupt silence and Mrs. Turner made a dash for the door. “That’ll be the kettle. I’ll bring up the tea in a second. Have a seat while I’m at it!” With that, she disappeared downstairs and the girls obediently returned to the living room.

 

Focusing on Sophie, Charlote asked, “So? What’s the verdict? And stop hiding your face behind that huge fringe of yours, the woman isn't going to bite,” she laughed, tucking a strand of strawberry blond hair behind the girl’s ear.

 

“I… I honestly love it. I mean, it’s got a…retro feel to it, but I don’t mind. I think it’s unique. Seems fitting for us, somehow.”

 

“The neighbour bit actually did get to you, though,” Charlotte observed. “I wouldn’t worry much. If they aren’t friendly, it’s as simple as not talking to them. And you know I wouldn’t let anyone so much as upset you.”

 

At that, the blonde smiled at her, trust written all over her features. “I know.”

 

“There’s still the bedroom issue…”

 

“I don’t know how I feel about it,” Sophie said, “it would be more convenient for everyone if we told Mrs. Turner to leave it as it is.”

 

“Do you think she would mind?” The brunette glared at the empty doorway, leery. “I don’t want to sound like a presumptuous twat, but you know how it is sometimes.”

 

The landlord with the moustache flashed through Sophie’s memory, face flushed, livid. The memory of his harsh words ringed through her ears and her stomach clutched. “Let’s test the waters first and then we’ll see.”

 

“So, beds aside, do we have a deal?” Charlotte asked, hopeful. Not only was she sick of staying in lousy hostels across the city, but the flat also gave her a fuzzy feel that she wouldn’t mind holding on to for a good while. And the most important reason…

 

Sophie grinned, “Yes, I think we do. We’re renting a flat,” as the realization hit her, Sophie’s grin grew wider, “We have a home… together.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose we do.” Unable to help it, Charlotte wrapped her arms around the girl’s waist and hugged her tight. “I’m sorry if I have been a little rude these days. All this flat hunting has been terribly stressful. But I promise I’ll do better from now on.”

 

Sophie sighed against the curve of her neck, the brunette’s chin resting on the crown of her head. “No, it’s okay. I probably wouldn’t have got anything done by myself. Although I would appreciate it if you held back a tad on the sarky remarks”, she chuckled.

 

Breaking the hug, the taller girl took Sophie’s face in her hands. “You know I love you, right? And I couldn’t be happier that we’re doing this.”

 

“You’ll change your mind after having to cope with the monstrous amount of hair I shed on a daily basis,” she joked.

 

“I know about your hair. I’ve been combing it for about a couple of years, remember?”

 

And then she leaned in and brushed Sophie’s lips with hers, softly, lovingly. The freckled blonde responded with enthusiasm, throwing her arms around Charlotte’s slender neck.

 

A sudden gasp told them they hadn’t been keeping track of the time Mrs. Turner had been gone and _of course she had to come back right now instead of a minute earlier or three seconds later._ Sophie jumped, putting five feet between her and her girlfriend. Charlotte simply sighed and faced Mrs. Turner.

 

“So, I realize now that maybe I should have mentioned that we… well, we aren’t flatmates. Or at least, not just flatmates. Good news is, you won’t need to replace the double bed,” Charlotte looked fearlessly into the old woman’s eyes, almost defying her.

 

But as soon as she recovered from the surprise, Mrs. Turner smiled sweetly and simply said, “Oh! Don’t worry, dears— There’s all sorts around here. Mrs. Hudson next door’s got married ones.”


End file.
